Love is blind
by Charrieblossom
Summary: Francis has a great appreciation for beauty. Sadly, after a firework accident, he turns blind. He can no longer see the beauty of the world and sinks deeper into depression every day. However, one lucky meeting with a certain British young man may change his vision on the world. Warning: Contains boyxboy! Rated T for minor suggestive adult themes, may change into M later.
1. Prologue

Author's notes:  
Hello there! This is my very first fanfiction so I would appreciate any kind of feedback to help me improve my writing.  
This story will have several chapters about Blind!FrancexEngland/Britain. All characters belong to Hidekaz Himaruya.  
_

**Prologue: A lonely year**

It was New Year's Eve. Children were playing in the streets with fireworks, Teenagers were testing their illegal fireworks and adults were getting drunk in the nearest bar. Not me. I was sitting on my porch, looking up at the colourful fireworks in the sky. The sound of fireworks filled the air, accompanied by children's cheers. It was beautiful. In my mind I was already saving the picture of the sky, which I wanted to paint the next day. I was thinking of good intentions for next year. Most of all I was thinking about l'amour. Which pretty lady would be mine tonight? Ah yes, Paris was truly wonderful on New Year's Eve. Great wine, beautiful fireworks and pretty women.

Drowned in my train of thoughts I forgot all about the painting I wanted to make. I opened my eyes and stared at the sky when suddenly a high pitched noise came closer and closer, followed by screams of fear. Something came rushing towards me. Before I could see what was happening I heard an explosion and everything went black.

That was exactly one year ago. I placed my hands on the cold, stone railing of the balcony and looked up at the sky. I closed my eyes and listened to the sound of the fireworks. It was a painful sound which reminded me of the accident. But it was also very soothing, because it brought up memories of the happiness and the beautiful sky that night.

It was a clear sound; I could almost see what the fireworks looked like. However, when I opened my eyes, there was nothing there. Black was all I saw. Black was all I had seen this past year.

My name is Francis Bonnefoy. I am a simple man, living in the heart of Paris. Where the shopping streets are always lit up, the sunsets are astonishing and the women are pretty. Sadly, I can't see any of those things. Ever since I turned blind I had to stop enjoying the things I loved the most.

I was fired as the top-chef of a five star restaurant, because I couldn't see what I was feeding our guests. I couldn't finish any of my paintings, because I couldn't see if the paintings were as beautiful as the image I had in my head. Most of all I gave up on love. I could no longer see the beauty of the world nor do the things I loved. What was I supposed to do with my life?

I thought everything was going to be alright once the doctors brought me the news of a possible surgery that would return my sight. _Wrong_. There was simply not enough money to pay for it, and besides that the chance of success was a small 20%.

I felt pathetic. As I sunk deeper and deeper into depression I even attempted suicide several times. This turned out to be surprisingly difficult, since I couldn't exactly see where to cut or which pills to take. I always ended up in the hospital, very much alive.

This all changed when I met this one special person. Arthur Kirkland. Let me tell my story from the beginning.


	2. Chapter 1: How we met

**Chapter 1: How we met**

Tick...tick...tick...tick...

With my cane in hand I made my way through the city, back to my apartment. Here to the right, then second street left. Or was it the third left? Did I even have to go right in this street? I sighed in frustration. This was the 5th time I got lost in my own city. I should have been paying attention instead of dancing through my thoughts. I folded up my cane and leaned against the nearest wall, trying to re-live the route I took. Did I take the wrong right? I slid my fingers down the wall behind me, feeling its texture. This was definitely not the right building.

Deep in my thoughts I failed to notice the young man trying to get my attention.  
"Excuse me, sir?"  
I was shaken out of my thoughts by a voice with a thick British accent.

"Ah, desolée, how can I help?"

I was pretty sure I couldn't help the foreign man, but it couldn't hurt to try, right? I turned my head in the direction of the young man's voice, not completely sure if I was looking him in the eye or if I was awkwardly staring at his chest. He didn't comment on it, so I let the thought slip.

"Could you tell me where I can find the-" I cut him off.

"Excusez moi, but I can't help you there. You see, I'm actually lost, too."

The man sounded surprised as he apologised. "Oh, I am sorry. I figured you would be from around here. Guess I was wrong."

I chuckled and faced front, at the probably many cars out on the street. "Non, tu est vrai. I actually live nearby. I just can't find the way home." I opened up my cane again and stood up straight.

The young English man gasped. "You are..." He stopped mid-sentence as if it was a curse word.

"You can say it; blind. It's no news."

"I'm terribly sorry." He replied. After a minute or two I wasn't sure if he was still there. The streets were too noisy to be able to hear someone walk away.

"You said you were lost? Maybe I can help?" Ah, he had been standing in front of me all this time. That must've been awkward.

I told him the name of the street where I lived. I heard nothing but a small click of a tongue for a moment.

"Doesn't sound familiar?" I stated more than asking.

"Not in the slightest, I'm afraid, but you said it was nearby? I could help by, well, being your eyes, if it helps?" He must've been smiling; something in his voice gave it away.

I tried imagining what his face could be like. All I knew of this person was that they were British, and, well, male, probably.

But none of that mattered now. I would gladly accept this man's help, judging from the fact that most people would pretend to be as deaf as I was blind and walk on by.

"You're a very kind man. Do you, by any chance, see the…?" I named another street which was nearby my apartment.

It took the man a moment to find it through all the ruckus out on the always busy streets of Paris, but after a while he spoke to me.

"Yes, it is over there." He must have been pointing somewhere, because he fell silent, expecting me to know what he meant.

"Oh!" The man suddenly seemed to remember my blindness. "I am so sorry! I meant it was uh, across the street and to the left."

I thanked him and tried to imagine where we were standing. If I was right my apartment was one block away from that street. Did I really take the wrong right all along? Luckily I was at least nearby my apartment. With my cane in hand, tapping from left to right, I walked alongside the man who was ranting away in a British accent, telling me to watch where I was going.

Little did he know that I've walked these streets a million times with my sight still intact. I knew this city by heart, but I tended to get lost in my thoughts and I'd often end up lost anyway. With more scolding from the same British man about my way of crossing the street, we arrived at the other side of the street. I asked him a few more questions about which street was where until I was orientated again.

"Merci beaucoup, I know the way from here." I started making my way to my apartment before he could say anything else. However, the footsteps I heard were not my own.

"Why are you still following me?" I asked the man who was still walking behind me.

"I just want to make sure you arrive home safely, that is all." came his response.

"Don't get me wrong, I highly appreciate your help, but I can find my apartment on my own now. Besides, didn't you have somewhere to be?" All the while the Brit was following me.

I decided to let him escort me to my apartment in silence. However, when we arrived at my apartment, after climbing the steps to the second floor, he was still there. I gave up on trying to send him away since he didn't sound like someone dangerous. I decided to invite him in as a Thank you. I got my keys out of my pocket and unlocked the door, holding it open for the British young man.

"Would you like to come in for coffee or tea?"

There was a moment of silence before he replied, "Yes, thank you." He sounded like he was smiling once more.

I guess that wherever he had to be wasn't that important after all, for he stayed at my place quite a while.

**A.N Next chapter will be longer and up soon!**


	3. Chapter 2: When can I see you again?

**Chapter 2: When can I see you again?**

"_When can I see you again?" _  
I remember how he laughed at my question. _Of course I couldn't see him_, I thought to myself as I was strolling down the street with my cane in hand. I was on my way to my favourite café for a coffee and some lunch.  
My mind was slowly wandering off again, even though I knew very well that I should've been paying attention. I just couldn't help thinking back on that day: The day I met that kind British man, Arthur, wasn't it? Secretly I was hoping to get lost, wishing that I'd stumble upon him once more. However, I didn't. I knew better than that.  
I arrived at the café, ordered my coffee and a croissant and sat down at my favourite spot after checking if it wasn't already taken. Finally I allowed myself to drift off in my thoughts and think back on a few days before.

"_Please, take a seat. Coffee or tea?" I asked the stranger as I hung up my coat, put away my cane and made my way to the kitchen. Luckily I didn't need my cane in my own home._

"_Tea, please." He answered me in his thick British accent. I put the kettle on the stove before walking to the living room, making sure I sat down on an empty seat instead of the man's lap. I decided to fill the time we had to wait for the water to boil with a small talk._

"_So, what brings you to France? I assume you're not from around here."_

"_Yes, well, just… business." _

_He probably wouldn't appreciate me asking any further, considering that tone._

"_Ah, I see." _

_The silence that followed was slightly awkward, what do you talk about with an utter stranger that you invited into your house without thinking about it?_

_I had always been spontaneous like that, inviting over random people I plucked from the streets. Never had I had a problem in keeping the conversation going, but somehow, the incident changed even that part of me._

"_How long have you been living here?" The British man asked me in an attempt to keep the conversation going. _

"_Since I was 18. I moved here to attend a culinary arts school." I told him rather proudly.  
"Oh, so you are—" He couldn't finish his sentence because the kettle started boiling and make a whistling sound. I remember getting that kettle when I first turned blind and was too stubborn to accept full help in the house holding. Now I only had people help me in the late afternoons, they would come by for a few hours, cleaning my house and making small take._

_I stood up to make my way to the kitchen while apologising to the British man for the annoying sound that interrupted him. I took the kettle of the stove and then fumbled for the third cabinet, opened it and searched for the small box filled with all different kinds of tea._

"_What kind of tea would you like?" I asked the man from the kitchen._

_He probably chose the most common kind of tea because he didn't want to be a bother. "Earl Grey is fine, if you have any." _

_I took a random bag of tea and smelled it before putting it back. Not Earl Grey. I tried again twice before I found the right one. I fumbled for the first cabinet and got out two cups and saucers, carefully filled the cups with the hot water and put two teabags on the saucers. One was Earl Grey, the other one was whatever I was going to drink. It was always a surprise, for I didn't really dislike any kind of tea. I carried them over to the table, gently putting them down._

"_Sugar or milk?" It was silent for a moment. "Would you like sugar or milk?" I repeated._

"_Oh! Eh, no thank you." I chuckled. He probably shook his head, forgetting my blindness once again. I decided not to ask though; it would only make things more awkward._

_The British man, whose name was still unknown, continued our past conversation. "So, you are a chef?"_

"_I _was_ a chef. Not anymore." I tried my best not to stop smiling, but I couldn't really help it. I just missed cooking so much. Just like painting. Just like all the things I used to do. No, don't go there, I thought to myself._

_The stranger must've noticed this for he didn't ask anymore. I could hear him sip his tea and I remembered mine. I put the teabag in the water and listened to the other man sipping his tea, realising that after inviting him into my home I still didn't know his name. _

"_What's your name anyway? My name is Francis. Francis Bonnefoy."_

"_Arthur Kirkland, nice to meet you." Another silence followed. Was he trying to shake hands?_

"_Of course," I heard Arthur say before I felt him grab my hand and shake it. "Sorry about that. I won't forget after this, I promise."_

_I laughed once more. This guy has me laughing more in one day than I did the past year._

_We drank our tea and talked a little more. I completely lost track of time, not realising we had been talking for nearly two hours._

"_I should go, it's getting late." I heard him stand up and I did the same. I made my way to the front door, opening it for him. I heard some rustling; he was probably putting on his coat and picking up his bag from wherever he left it. _

"_Thanks for helping me get home, I enjoyed your company." I thanked him._

"_You are very welcome." He answered me._

"_When can I see you again?" I asked Arthur, at first not understanding what was so funny, for he was laughing at me._

"_Well, I'll be around." And with that, he left._

I sighed as I thought back, it seemed so long ago. Time seems to pass much slower when you can't look at the clock. Then I heard someone clear their throat at the opposite side of the table. I was sure I checked if there was no one there.

"Excusez moi, was this your spot?"

"No, but I am trying to get your attention." Speak of the devil, that voice was familiar.

"Arthur?" He chuckled, making me assume I was right.

I heard the shuffling of a chair, he must've sat down.

"Did you miss me already?" I asked him teasingly.

"Oh please," he told me, "I merely sat down here because the café is full."

Well, that was a disappointment. Or it would've been, if it was true. I could barely hear anyone else talking and the sound of silverware clinking against plates was also very much absent. He was teasing me, interesting. Well, two could play that game.

"Good thing you did, I had almost forgotten about you." I grinned ever so slightly.

I bet he gave me a nasty glare. I could hear him taking a bite of something and it made me wonder what he ordered.

"What did you get?"

"What does it look like?" He asked me in a sarcastic manner.

I stayed silent for a moment, smiling just as sarcastically as I waited for him to realise his mistake.

"Oh bloody hell, I forgot again. My apologies." He sounded truly sorry. "It is half a baguette with ham, egg, chive and… garlic, I believe." (Co-Author/beta reader's note: That combo is delicious, ok, don't judge me!)

"Sounds nice. Enjoy your lunch."

It was silent for a moment before Arthur repeated himself. "I am truly sorry. I should not have said that."

"It's fine. Maybe I should start wearing sunglasses. My blindness tends to go unnoticed without my cane in hand." I answered him with a small chuckle.

Arthur fell silent once more, softly chewing on his baguette.

"I've been wondering about you, you know?" I admitted.  
His reply came quicker than expected. "I thought you had almost forgotten about me."

I grinned in his direction. "Okay, you got me. However, you and I both know the café isn't even near full. There's practically nobody."

"How did you know that?" Arthur asked me curiously.

I just grinned at him, not giving him the answer. "You lied to a blind man, don't you feel guilty?" I was teasing him and he knew it.  
"You can be such a wanker, you know?"  
I couldn't stop myself from sniggering and mimicked Arthur's British accent as I repeated "wanker" out loud. It earned me a sigh from the other side of the table and probably an eye roll.

"Well," I could hear him standing up and shoving his chair back in place, "I guess I should be on my way." His footsteps sounded softly on the stone floor of the café.

"Arthur?" I asked him, making him stop in his tracks. "Would you like to visit sometime? It's kind of lonely, living alone." There came no response. "I could use your company."

"So could I." Then I heard his footsteps fade away. "Don't get lost on the way home." He told me before I heard the door open and close and he was gone.

**A.N Special thanks to Mikachiish for beta reading, writing a small part for me and being awesome 3**


	4. Chapter 3: Company

**A.N First I just want to tell you all how much it makes me smile to see that my story has another follower/favourite or review. This is my first fan fiction EVER and I'm so glad you guys like it! My chapters may not be very long and some may contain lots of dialogue, but I really try my best and I appreciate all of you who read my story. THANK YOU 3**

**Chapter 3: Company**

**Arthur's POV  
**With a smile plastered on my face I exited the café. Who would have thought I'd bump into him again? Yes, I mean Francis Bonnefoy. So far, he was the only good thing about moving to Paris. Well, that may have been exaggerated, but still. Not much good had happened so far. The whole bloody reason for moving to Paris was nothing but drama and bad news.

Though it wasn't that bad to live in Paris. I mean, I had a well-paid job. That was something, right? I could barely speak a word French and it was the most boring kind of office job you could imagine, but money was money and my apartment had quite a high rent.

I rolled up my sleeve to check the time. Almost 1 'o clock, I had to hurry. I quickly made my way to the business' office, where I had been working for a few weeks now. I usually had to start at nine, but I sometimes went out to get lunch around twelve. While crossing the street some idiotic Frenchman nearly ran over me. _Git!_ I just could not get used to their terrible way of driving. First of all, they had no patience, second of all, they drove on the right side of the street. Enough said, right?

I arrived at the office and entered through the big, glass, front doors. Since I was late I decided to take the elevator. I pushed the button and had to wait a few seconds for the doors to open and let me in. The third floor, that was where I worked. As I left the elevator and entered my department I was greeted with the scolding of my boss.

"You're late, Mr. Kirkland," He complained, "again."

_Fucking hell, I work my arse off for you day in day out, give me a bloody break will you?_ That is what I thought, what I did was apologise for being late before sitting down at my desk. _Let's see what kind of job awaits me today. _I checked my work schedule and with a deep sigh I started working on the computer.

* * *

Several hours later I was finally finished and I only had to take a small part of my work home with me. I collected my papers, put them in my briefcase and left the department. I walked down the stairs toward the exit of the building and made my way home.

The streets of Paris were never really silent, I noticed. Cars were still driving absurdly fast and impatient through the street and lots of people were sitting outside at all kinds of cafés and restaurants. The sky had become a dark shade of orange and only a few stars were visible.

It was not long before I arrived at my apartment complex. The last apartment on the fourth floor belonged to me. After I unlocked the door I put down my briefcase, hung up my coat and made myself a pot of earl grey tea. I took two cups and filled them with tea, realising only after I put the pot away that I was alone. _Darn it_. I still needed to get used to living alone.

It had only been a short few weeks since I moved to Paris. No, my reasons for moving here were never about work. To be honest the whole reason was kind of vague.

I used to have a wife back in London. Well, I should say girlfriend, since we were not married yet. We were engaged and we loved each other so very much.

At least, that is what I thought. To be real it was just _me loving her_. _She_ loved men in general, not just me. So after the marriage was cancelled I moved to France for some reason. I told you it was vague.

I ended up drinking both cups of tea since I did not want to waste any of it. I finished the last bits of my work and went to bed, suddenly remembering something a certain Frenchman said. "_Would you like to visit sometime? It's kind of lonely, living alone."_ That question kept crossing my mind that night.

I turned around in my bed several times, pondering my decision. There was something about this man that I was… curious about. Was that the right word? Was I just curious? No, this man just made me smile with all of his silly actions. I even smiled when I thought about it.

* * *

The next day after work I stood before Francis' door with trembling fingers. What the bloody fuck was I so nervous about? I rang the doorbell after taking a deep calming breath and a nice looking lady in her mid-30's opened the door.

"Bonjour, you must be Mr. Bonnefoy's guest." She switched to English for me.

"Yes, Arthur is the name, nice to meet you." She shook my hand let me in.

"He's in the dining room, second door to your left." She told me in her heavily accented English before returning to whatever she had been doing. What a kind lady, she must have been one of those volunteers that help people with disabilities. _Disabled_, it sounded like there was something _wrong_ with him. I shook the thought out of my head and hung up my coat before continuing through the hallway to the second door on my left.

I opened it and Francis looked up in my direction.

"Hello, all right?" I greeted him. He smiled and put down his book. Wait, a book? How could he be reading?

"Arthur! I didn't expect you this soon." He motioned for me to take a seat. "I'm fine, et toi?" I grinned at how he switched back to French now and then. "I'm good." I took the seat opposite from his and sat down.

"Would you like some tea? The water just finished boiling."

I nod, but quickly corrected myself by answering verbally. "Yes, please. Earl Grey is fine."

He stood up and went to the kitchen. I could see how he had trouble finding the right tea, but he had gotten quite good at it; I know I would not be able to do that without my eyesight.

"What is the book for? Pretending you can read?" I teased him.

"I can read, merci beaucoup." I could see him smile nonetheless. "Unlike you."

"What about me?" I said in a challenging manner.

"I bet you couldn't read even one word from that book." He returned to the table with two cups of tea and sat down, shoving the book towards me after putting both cups down.

I took the book and opened it, realising what he meant: The book was written in braille. "Alright, you win." I said with a defeated grin. Not that he could see me grin, but still. "Git."

He laughed victoriously. "I told you so."

We continued chatting for a while when we both started to get hungry.

Francis suggested going to the restaurant around the corner, but I declined. Then he suggested making dinner, which surprised me… a lot.

"I thought you quit cooking?" I knew he didn't like the question, but I wondered.

"Well, I could always give _you_ directions on how to cook." _Bad idea, Francis._ Really, if only he knew what a terrible cook I was. "I don't think that's a good idea. I can't cook.."

"Nonsense!" He exclaimed. "Anyone can cook! Get off your lazy derrière, we're going to make Tarte Tatin."

"Tarte-what? Wait, hold on! You don't understand, I _really_ cannot cook. I ruin literally everything I—"By now that frog had pulled me out of the chair and into the kitchen, searching for the necessary supplies. He surprised me every time again with how well he could fend for himself. After a few minutes the counter was filled with a pan and all sorts of ingredients.

"Bien, start with-"Francis started explaining the whole recipe.

"Whoa, slow down, git. I don't even know what we're making!" I complained.

"Tarte Tatin," Francis explained, "it's like a French apple pie." He smiled in my direction, _even though he missed my face by a quite a few inches_.

"Apple pie? That's not _dinner_ Francis." I once again complained.

"Allez, Arthur, live a little." I couldn't help but to smile slightly and eventually agreed to try and make one.

He explained to me how the recipe worked and I did as he told me. I had to cook the sugar until it caramelised and slice six apples in four in the meantime. So far it all seemed to go well. And even if I might not admit it out loud, I actually had a pleasant time.

I poured the caramel into the baking form and placed the apples on top just like Francis told me. Then I had to take the dough, which had to go on top of the pie, and roll it out. Well, that was no success.

After huffing, puffing and trying again for the fifth time Francis slowly approached from behind me. I felt his arms around me and his hands searching for mine. For some reason, as he did so, my heart skipped a beat. _Arthur, what the hell is wrong with you? _ Once he found them he showed me that I had to be more gentle. _Bloody hell, he was so close…_ I could feel the stubbles on his chin brushing past my cheek and my face heat up. _No, I am NOT blushing. Damnit._

"Like this, understand?" He asked me with a smile.

"Y-Y.." I tried to speak but I was tongue tied. I made an understanding sound before telling him as seriously as possible, "You can let go of me now." He finally released my hands and moved back to his spot behind me to give me directions. "Bloody frog." I muttered.

I could hear him chuckle as I was _gently _rolling out the dough.

"You're still blushing." I dropped the rolling pin and stared at him in awe. _ How did he..!?_

"How would you know?" _I was sounding serious enough, wasn't I?_

"I could just feel your face heat up and now you're all quiet. I'm _blind_, Arthur, not stupid."

I fell silent once again and his by now famous laughter sounded once more through the room.

"You can admit that you're attracted to me, Arthur. Who wouldn't be? After all, aren't I by far the most fabulous man in town?"

"I am most definitely _not_ attracted to an idiotic French git like yourself. I am merely here to keep you company." _I'm too blatant, even for a blind man…_

"Honhon, I was just pulling your leg, relax." I sighed of relief. Not that I _was_ attracted to him, **absolutely not. **So it was not a sigh of relief because of me.. but because of him. Because of course it would have been awkward if _he_ had been attracted to _me._ Because I am not into men, of course. No, no I wasn't.

My train of thought kept continuing for a while as I rolled out the dough and placed it over the caramel and the apples, putting it all in the oven.

Meanwhile Francis and I chatted on for a while. Well, really he was just teasing me and I was denying every little thing. And, of course, we forgot about our pie.

_Hell, my name was Arthur Kirkland and I am blessed with the skill to never burn anything I tried to bake. Nice to meet you._ In case you didn't get it, I am being sarcastic.

The rest of the evening was quite uneventful. I helped Francis clean up the kitchen and in the end we went to that restaurant around the corner anyway.

As I lay in bed that night I couldn't help but to doubt my feelings for him. I was absolutely not _curious _about that man. This was something completely different.

Life, where are you taking me? I couldn't get any shuteye that night.

* * *

**So, that's it for this chapter! I'm ****_terribly sorry_**** for the long wait! I really hope all of you enjoyed this chapter and please let me know how you like the progression of this story so far. Reviews, favourites and follows are ****_REALLY _****appreciated!**

**SPECIAL BIG THANKS TO Mikachiish****FOR BETA-READING 333**


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